


Basement Shenanigans

by CalmSpirited



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Overstimulation, Plot? Maybe, Size Difference, a hentai amount of cum, breaking news: Dwight likes to be the egg man's incubator, dmod i wrote this for u, idk dmod smooch, literally i should be sleeping i need to be up in a few hours but no this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 14:31:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15536331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalmSpirited/pseuds/CalmSpirited
Summary: For dmod bc i love that manshave this shit its kinda crappy but eh, I did it





	Basement Shenanigans

**Author's Note:**

> dmod thank u for giving me almost 30$ ur now my sugar daddy

If there was anything Dwight could use right about now, it was was some luck.

He could do with anything, really- a toolbox, a medkit, a flashlight, hell, even a broken key could do him good- which is why he's venturing downwards; taking careful steps down the stairs, watching the dreaded Fog wrap around his ankles, as if encouraging him in his descent to the ritualistic center of Spider worship, the archaic whispering of the creature that held them all here, scraping at his skull from the inside.

To stay down there is to embrace the Fog into your soul, and Dwight is already far too damp from the humidity above to embrace it anymore.

He reaches the final step of the entire staircase and pauses, dark hair brushing lightly across his forehead as his eyes sweep from corner to corner, searching for just the luck he needs. And there it was: an unopened and untouched chest, tucked away in the back corner, partly obscured by a rusted red locker. _Just for him, for the taking_.

He sprints to it, excitement and eagerness for searching the box’s contents shooting through his legs and chest, heart picking up its beating and pumping his blood to make his legs lurch forward towards the object in the dark corner, fingers twitching as he grunts with effort in pushing back the heavy lid and rummages loudly through the various odds and ends, hoping that maybe he could find something _useful, like a good toolbox, or a flashlight, or maybe even a dull key…_

His fingers latch onto something instinctively, and he quickly pulls it out, the ghost of a smile upon his face at the possibility of his findings… which was an utterly broken and useless key. _Just great_. Oh well, perhaps he could use it to fend of some of the more pesky crows if the flew too near.

He backs up from the yellow box, disappointment written across his face as he turned the key over and over in his hands, mulling in his mind about how his luck was always bad, _how he always managed to fuck up, and that’s all he ever was, just a big fuckup stain on the team-_

_SNAP!_

“AAAAHHH!” White hot pain seared up his leg, racing up all of his nerve endings along his spine and piercing his brain, he instinctively fell to one knee and clutched at the area where the pain was coming from: a rusted and dyed bear trap, resting precariously on one of the basement steps.

How did he not see it? And how did he not step on it coming down?!?

Either way, he violently struggled, hands quaking as he tried to slip his bloodied fingers inbetween the serrated jaws to alleviate the excruciating pressure on his calf and… wait, _was this trap padded?_ Yes, the jaws were more rustier than usual, but there was heavy fabric covering the entire mouth of the trap, and even though a few of them had punctured through and had given him a few shallow cuts, Dwight found himself relatively unharmed, except for those cuts and bruises.

 _I’m not hurt that bad, I’m okay_. Repeating that matra through his mind, he took a few deep breaths and steadied himself, shoulders squaring back so he could prepare himself for any pain that would come from wrenching himself free from the immobilizing device. He wiped his slippery fingers on his pants to clean off the blood and sweat so he could get a better hold, then returned them to the covered jaws and gripped them.

He gave them a quick series of harsh and strenuous tugs, but the jaws did not open. So, he tried again, and again, and again, and again- _why wasn’t this working!?_

His heart was pounding from his efforts and from the adrenaline coursing through his body- _no, something else!_ \- another heartbeat was joining his own. _The Trapper! And he was already was in the basement!_

“Oh no, oh no no no, please, _please_ -” He’s muttering, _pleading_ to himself and to whoever can hear him to let him out, redoubling his efforts and pulling as hard as he can on his jaws to spare him, let him go- they don’t budge an inch, and his hands began slipping again, cutting his fingers even more in the process. _Why does my luck suck balls?_

The thumping picking up speed until it nearly matched his own, Dwight struggled as hard as he could with a sliver of hope in his chest that _maybe_ he could slide away and get into a locker to hide, but that hope evaporated when he heard familiar rubber soles tread heavily up above him, the wooden floor of the shack creaking and groaning underneath the pressure of the Killer. Dwight couldn’t help the whimper that escaped his throat.

He heard the unmistakable sound of the Trapper chuckling above him, and heavier, mocking footfalls coming down the stairs. Dwight struggled so hard he accidently cut his wrist, recoiling and cradling his now burning hand against his chest.

“The gambler didn’t spare you any luck, did he, little one?”

 _Little one_. Usually, he would call him _little pig_ or _little runt_ , but when he calls him _little one_ … it usually means something _different_. And suddenly, the padded jaws and the seemingly numerous and miraculous near misses and escapes fell into place. A _very heated_ place, namely his lower stomach.

He wanted to look up to see what the monster was planning, but he knew he would just have a pitiful look, so to prevent any further embarrassment and humiliation, he kept his head down until the Trapper grabs a hold of his chin, lifting his face up so his own quick breathing bounces off the wooden and bloodstained mask of the Trapper. 

“Would you like to run, little one?”

Surprisingly, the Trapper wasn’t as forceful as he usually was on the hunt, and always gave him a choice on whether or not he wanted an… _alternative escape_. Though, he can say that when he stopped running, he found the alternative to be quite preferrable.

He shakes his head, hoping that that would be enough of an answer, fiddling with his leg still caught in the padded trap, but the tightening of the hand under his chin, gripping tight enough to squeeze his jawbone and to part his lips by squishing his face. _He wants to hear him say it_.

“N-no.” He swallows his pride, and the drool that had formed. “I’- I’ll stay.”

The Trapper makes a pleased noise, letting go of his chin and rearing back to his full height, his rubber overalls squeaking with his movement. The leader expects to be released now, but he’s mistaken as the mountain of muscle simply walks past him with a grunt, the trapped male noticing that he’s sparring his bad knee more than usual today. He leans his gleaming meat cleaver against a locker with care, obviously proud of his weapon of _prestige_ before walking back over to Dwight, leaning over against and grabbing ahold of his striped tie in one meaty fist, pulling him upwards into a standing position.

“Stay still.” He commands, and Dwight needs no further urging to obey and the Killer bends down fully, and with one supernatural shove, he’s fully opened the trap and slid Dwight’s ankle out of harm’s way. It’s a relief on his ankle being freed from the pressure, and Dwight takes a seat on the steps to inspect his wounds: superficial, mostly, with a few needer cuts that a heavy bandage and antiseptic couldn’t readily fix.

More rustiling takes place above him while he’s looking; he doesn’t really _need_ to look to know that the Trapper has unfastened his overalls and was sliding them off his scarred barrel chest, down past his hips-

He _can’t_ look at the same time he _must_ look, internally torn between nervousness and desire bubbling within, his budding lust finally winning out as he turns his head upwards to see the undressing male carefully taking his weight off his bad knee by sliding down and gingerly lowering himself to the floor, back against the cool metal of the lockers.

And let’s not the main focus of the scene: his fully erect dick, long and wide and proudly on display, stroking in it such a way that made Dwight lick his lips.

A motion above the thick shaft caught his attention. The Trapper was beckoning him forward. “Come here.”

 _Who made that choking sound_ \- oh, it was him. _Embarrassing._

Face burning, Dwight made his way over to where the Trapper was, limping slightly to spare his injured ankle, coming to stand inbetween the Killer’s spread legs. “Kneel.” And the leader obeyed, resting back on his haunches as Tr- _Evan, his real name, the name he preferred to be called during more intimate times_ \- stopped stroking himself to grip the wide base, tilting his cock towards the Survivor.

Evan didn’t have to speak to make Dwight understand what he wanted him to do.

Despite having done this more times than he could count on both of his hands, it never failed to make him nervous and anxious, shyness creeping up alongside his flushed face, making his cheeks feel like they were just lit ablaze with gasoline. He scoots forward a few inches, hands fiddling with his tie while staring absentmindedly at the offering presented to him, still too apprehensive on how to proceed, even though this isn’t his first time. _If anybody asks, Dwight just taking this incredibly slow, like a gentleman should do._

Evidently, he’s been staring too long and Evan cares not for his consideration because his tie is grabbed and pulled downward with overwhelming strength, lowering his head close enough to where his heavy pants make Evan’s cock twitch with every nasally exhale. _So much for taking it slow_. Now he has no excuse to just stare, _which was just fine by him, staring gave him plenty of time to plan out a brilliant fantasy in his head-_

The hand that was clutching his tie moved to run its fingers through his hair, urging him even further downwards, and Dwight nearly choked on his own spit again. Brain kicking into high gear, he gave the underside of the mushroom head a wet kiss, laden with saliva that had been pooling in his mouth from staring all this time. The first contact has him reeling, has his mind screaming at him in self- doubt and cowardice; but no amount of mental disparaging will quell the _hunger_ he has, the _insatiable desire_ he has boiling within his whole being for the monster before him; especially his cock.

His lower stomach quivered at the memories of how that cock has been inside him, and how it had felt, how _he’d_ had felt, and how he’d thought that it was going to kill him from how good it felt. Sometimes, he wished it had because that would’ve been _one hell of a way to go, better than on a meathook._

He pressed another kiss, but this time he lingered, tongue poking out between his lips and running along the underside glands and upwards, collecting the small amount of precum that had started leaking out. He didn’t have to look up at the low growl to know that Evan liked that, and the hand in his hair forming into a fist was only encouragement. 

Dwight swallowed, pushing back down the lump of anxiety in his throat before taking the bulbous head into his mouth, red lips stretched around the engorged flesh while a hand of his found its place about halfway down the shaft, holding it as steady as he could with his trembling hands. Sucking softly, he rubbed his tongue back and forth on the underside of the head, making sure to hit all the sensitive glands he knew would be there, well, on a normal person.

“Good boy.” Leathery fingers scratch at his scalp, eeking out a soft whimper from the recesses of his throat. _Praise_ , the word makes his stomach clench, a hot spike of arousal piercing his abdomen and coming to rest inbetween his thighs. Being praised makes him work harder, helping him to engage further with his mouth and hands to bring more pleasure to Evan and to himself.

Sweat drips off of the office worker’s forehead and onto Evan’s exposed belly as he starts bobbing his head, carefully working downwards as to not accidentally vomit again _(he had learned his lesson)_. Spit now freely dribbling from the corners of his lips, he utilizes it as lube to help hasten his efforts. _That odd, prickling sensation in the back of his throat made him crave to have as much dick in his mouth as possible, as if he was a starving man devouring his first meal in weeks._

Another small push on the crown of his head help him along, the head starting to slip into that all important area where his tongue ended and his gag reflexes started, his spare hand shooting up to hold back any more pushing, and surprisingly, Evan got the message and relaxed his grip in his hair. Dwight had a mental sigh of relief with the permission to take this part slow, the soft rumbles above him letting him know that he was still doing things right as he slowly, _ever so slowly_ , slipped the head into the back of his throat with only minimal choking that elicited a groan from the barbed man he was pleasing. 

Recuperating from the intrusion, Dwight took a few precious moments to fully pull back, heaving in enough air for an elephant to live off of while he took note of his surroundings: still dark, still foggy, and the Trapper still as massive and unnerving as he always was, and even though he still had his mask on, Dwight could _feel_ the heated, lustful stare the Killer was giving him, and that it was making him acutely aware of the painful erection he had straining the front of his slacks. His hands were too busy to paw at it, so he settled for grinding his thighs together, his own erection aching for stimulation.

It didn’t go unnoticed by the Trapper, who, after he had bent his head back down to resume his blowjob, reached inbetween all of their limbs to rub at his length through his trousers. Dwight moaned a lot louder than what he would consider _modest_ , face twisting in embarrassment when the noise echoed off the rotting walls and mixed with the wet sounds his mouth was making.

Looking upwards while his mouth was busy, he just happened to lock his gaze with Evan, who had been looking heatedly at what was going on below the belt before looking to see Dwight’s reaction to being groped. And he liked what he saw; Dwight’s cherry red lips stretched tight around his cock, his whimpering and squirming and desperateness for any kind of touch to his privates- as much as Evan loved to see Dwight _squirm_ , it had been awhile since he had gotten any sort of release, and he wasn’t willing to wait around for much longer.

His large hands had a reasonable amount of difficulty in undoing Dwight’s zipper and belt, tugging on the offending garments and growling warningly. “Take them off.” _Or he’d rip them off_ , Dwight thought. He didn’t need to be told twice, hands leaving the central area of the show to undo his belt and zipper, nearly breaking both in the process.

It took him nearly face planting on top of Evan’s dick to realize that he would have to let go and stand up to take his pants off before he got to his staggering feet, pushing his pants and boxers down to below his knee, kicking them off the rest of the way and neatly laying them at the foot of the stairs, and while he was there deciding to kick off his shoes, but left his socks on, due to how dirty the basement floor usually was. He turns back to see that Evan had slid down against the wall even further, more than half of his torso laying onto the dark concrete and one hand reaching out towards Dwight’s leg.

He walked back over there, one hand unconsciously tugging his office shirt over his own erection- _not the he was misshapen or small, but Evan’s eyes on him made him so self- conscious_. The brushing of the fabric of his shirt against his cock made him shudder, his curled fingers lightly toying with his shaft as he stood inbetween Evan’s broad legs, close enough for a meaty hand to wrap around one his pale legs.

He was turned around, awkwardly weaving his legs in and out of Evan’s in his 180 attempt, and allowing himself to be pulled down to the floor when Evan tugged hard enough on his knee. He opened his mouth to ask just what was Evan doing pulling him backwards when he heard a soft clatter behind him, twisting his head back far enough to see that the Trapper had discarded his typical mask.

A _scalding_ hot tongue cut off any other questions he had, transforming his queries into quiet moans. Mouth parted with his head lolling softly, he instinctively pushed backwards into the killer’s mouth, his body aching and craving for more of the delicious feelings that he was being given, even if he did acted like a whore in the process. And he was rewarded with more, hands massaging his cheeks and giving one of them a harsh slap, making Dwight’s back snap to like a bowstring.

His head was pushed down again, and the tip of Evan’s dick nearly knocked his glasses off the bridge of his nose, where they had been precariously balanced. “Keep going.” _Like he was going to refuse_. Even though the position made him slightly lightheaded, it felt much easier to take the large organ in his mouth and better to bob his head.

Dwight got a few good sucks in before he had to throw his head back in ecstasy as Evan’s tongue snuck inside, almost immediately prodding against his prostate and making his arms buckle from the shock of the intrusion. Chest heaving, Dwight tried to compose himself enough so he could return to the throbbing shaft under him, squaring his shoulders while swallowing the excess saliva that had started to pool in bottom of his mouth, but it became immensely harder to continue to suck Evan’s dick when he felt something _trickle_ down between his asscheeks.

_That better be lube, since Evan usually comes prepared- COLD oh yeah, that’s lube._

That brought a soft smile to the leader’s face, the idea creeping in that the lube would shorten the preparation time needed to ready himself for the main event which only served to make Dwight more impatient. A hoarse “Please.” breaks from his swollen lips, a plea for _more_ , to fuel the fire of lust in his veins, the beg for just _more_ of everything-

A finger _(the pinky, he assumes)_ slides its way past his loosened ring of muscles, and his knees nearly give out. “O-Oh God!” His mouth brushes against the cock tantalizingly upright, and he automatically takes it back into his mouth, sucking and working hard to get it as deep in his mouth as possible. The intrusion moves back and forth, _ever so slowly_ , the stretch burning just enough to register but not enough to linger in his mind as any pain it might’ve caused transitioned to pleasure.

If anybody would’ve walked in at that moment, they would’ve thought Dwight was a common street whore.

Sucking Evan’s dick helped to distract him from _whatever_ was going on behind him, the obscene noises giving him pretty obvious clues and only heightening what he was feeling. Soon enough, the slight twinges of pain Evan’s finger caused him with its thrusting faded away completely, and he was deemed loose enough to take a second, even bigger finger that took his breath away and made his back arch.

Dwight felt the coldness of more lubricant being smeared along his entrance, but this time the chill didn’t erase the burn that accompanied Evan’s fingers, fueling the burning pit in Dwight’s stomach and shooting straight down into his balls. With the extra finger came more brushing against his prostate, and with Dwight meeting Evan’s thrusting with every buck _still_ with Evan’s dick in his mouth.

Until Evan pulled him off, grabbing him roughly by his dark hair and holding his head back sharply while he added a third finger, twisting it _wonderfully_ within him and causing his walls to convulse around them. He babbled incessantly, not knowing what he was saying. “Oh m-my God- Evan, you- fuck me, please! I need it, I need it so much, _please-ah~!”_

“Patience, little one. I want to get you ready.”

“I am!” Dwight cried out, trying his hardest to throw himself back on Evan’s fingers, trying to prove to Evan that he was ready, and the he needed it inside him _bad_. “Please, please, I’m ready-”

“Hmmmm, are you sure?” The rough voice has the light edge of teasing, but the hand on Dwight’s head is gone in favor of wrapping around his upper thighs and meshing Evan’s darkened face inbetween his cheeks and sucking deeply on his hole, worming his tongue inside and wiggling it all around.

Dwight screamed, and Evan laughed.

While his head was reeling and temporarily overwhelmed, Evan had switched positions, pulling Dwight’s hips downwards while pushing himself upwards. Dwight didn’t realize what was happening until he was nearly upright again and he could feel the killer’s wet cock brush against his upper thighs, gasping when he realized he was about to get what he had been _pleading and begging for_. The leader felt the mushroom tip press itself inbetween his ass, and he whined loudly, throwing his head down so he could see what was going on.

Evan had a tight grip around his cock, rubbing it back and forth against the nervous man’s asshole, giving the squirming man one last chance to back out or to say he needed more time, but Dwight just kept rutting backwards and pressing himself downwards, so he gave in and allowed Dwight to let the head breach his hole with a lewd _pop!_ , watching Dwight frantically twisting his head around behind him to get a better look at what was going on and looking as the killer spread his cheeks open to get a good view of the shaft slowly sliding inside.

He felt like he was on display, and a slutty part of him _loved it._

Dwight felt Evan’s dick slide in about halfway before that sudden jarring feeling struck him- _he can’t go all the way yet_ \- he jerks himself upwards, consigning himself to short and shallow movements for now, raising himself up until he can feel the edges of the cockhead against his entrance before slowly sliding himself back down until that stopping feeling occurs, enjoying all the vein and ridges that scratched and rubbed along his insides, moaning loudly when one of them caught his prostate.

He feels large and heavy hands at his waist, the giant cock inside him leaking copious amount of precum that coated his insides and acted as improv lube that helped him slide just the tiniest bit lower with each thrust, and Dwight can’t help to touch himself, giving himself _more_ when he’s already getting a little _too_ much, but he’s known for getting in way over his head.

There’s comes a point where Dwight _literally_ can’t take any more of Evan’s cock, a point when hit sends another wave of quaking pleasure and a brief sting of pain through him, but it bothers him not. Once he’s fully seated, Dwight’s ready to ride.

Evan’s hands grasped his hips hard enough to squish Dwight’s nerves and make him squeal in pain, but he’s squealing in pleasure not long after when the monster he’s being fucked by takes full control, his unnatural strength allowing to drop Dwight up and down on his dick like he was a human-sized stuffed animal, and all the younger man could do was try to shakily balance himself on unsteady legs as he was being used as the Trapper liked.

Dwight wasn’t a fighter as much as he was a persister. As long as he was mindless was pleasure, Evan could fuck him all day long if he pleased. 

“Fuck fuck fuck! Mphmm~ oh, fuck, that’s- ah!” In a haze of pleasure, Dwight’s glasses had been jarred right off his face and had managed to land directly on his wagging dick, the nose dip catching just right onto the red and leaking tip that it was comical. It was impossible to tell apart his chuckling from his gasping, but the smile was on his face for sure.

He took one sane moment, to _somehow_ fold them up and slide them across the rocky floor in a faint hope that they wouldn’t be cracked or anything. With his glasses gone but their touch lingering, he grabbed his own erection and starting jerking it, thoughts of enjoying the ride turned into more single-minded intentions of orgasm.

Seconds melted away in the nervous man’s mind, and each thrust jolted him out of counting for just how long he had been getting fucked until he stopped thinking altogether, and a stream of words and noises that he would’ve been otherwise _mortified_ making when he was sober was all he could utter. _So much for dignity_.

“I-I- ughck- please, please, ah, I’m close!” He paused to swallow and inhale sharply, clearing his nose of the mucus that had formed in response to the dampness of the atmosphere that he had been down in for so long. “‘M gonna cum-” _Hand moving faster, he felt the telltale tightening in his stomach and the fluttering of muscles in his crotch and holy hell he could feel it in his toes-_

His eyes that he hadn’t realized he had let slide shut flew open again when the familiar feel of Evan’s hand closed around his balls in a _particular way_ \- Dwight _howled_ when his really close climax was suddenly pushed just out of his reach.

“Not yet, little one.” The office worker sobbed, but there wasn’t really much of anything he could do except swift his weight from arm to arm and hang on for dear life as Evan went somehow _faster_ that before. _He wanted to cum so badly, the damn tease!_

It’s not the first time he’s been stopped from spilling himself so soon, but it feels like hell within his own hell at the same the, the crushing pressure to release but the choking feeling of being denied. He quickly loses track of himself, shifting any way he’s allowed to to try and lodge himself free for just a few _precious, blissful moments_ \- Evan catches on to what he’s doing, and suddenly stops thrusting altogether, eliciting a sharp, disappointed nose from Dwight. 

“You want to come that bad?”

He threw his head back and circled his hips, nearly yelling to the rafters above. “Yes! P-please-”

The _brutal, unrelenting_ pace started up again, minus the death grip around his balls, and all it took was a few quick tugs on his cock from his own sweat- plastered hand to invoke his climax, mouth opening in a silent, choking scream, mind going blank as come splattered over various parts of his stomach, hand, thighs and disappearing as it dribbled onto the floor. _Or, he might have slipped on some and nearly banged his head onto the floor in a desperate attempt to steady himself as he fell forward from his loss of footing._

Too stunned by his near fall and his recent orgasm, he didn’t take note of Evan laughing quite boisterously behind him, nor the shifting behind him along with the sudden shadow cast over him. Dwight only realized that their position had changed when Evan’s powerful hand splayed itself inbetween his shoulder blades and pushed Dwight so the side of his face was against the cold concrete of the basement, snapping his eyes wide open and trying to crane his head so that he could get a view of what was going on behind him.

He couldn’t see anything without his glasses, but he _absolutely felt_ Evan’s monstrous cock slide back into him, picking right back up where it had stopped, not giving the leader any sort of break or leniency. And Dwight was starting to regret his lack of self control when he felt Evan start curving his thrusts to add more of a scrape against his prostate with every motion.

Clawing his already bitten nails against the solid floor, the survivor tried to find purchase against a surface that offered none, and like before, he found himself completely at the mercy of the killer above him, fucking him and _he would be lying if he said that wasn’t a turn on for him_. Tears streamed down his face as the feeling of overstimulation kicked in with the incessant simulation, flooding induated nerves with pleasure, _too much pleasure_ , and he cried out, at a loss as to what else he could do.

“Augh- Evan, _please_ , it’s- it’s too much! _Fuck_ , I can’t, I can’t I can’t _ahhhnmgmh!~”_

Salty tears, snot and drool formed into a puddle underneath Dwight’s cheek, reflecting just the kind of state he was in. His mind became a goopy static; not solid and certainly not sane, not with the faces or the noises he was making, all he could really make out was the slapping sound of skin on skin and Evan’s chuckling. Dwight’s fists pounded against the ground, begs and pleads echoing off the walls and ringing in his ears, loud enough that it almost muted the mammoth fucking him speaking up.

“You’re so good, little one. Ready for your reward?”

Dwight screamed a jumbled mess of the word _“Yes!”_ , and braced for impact, which he didn’t have to wait long for, and the thrusting behind him quickly became sloppy and _somehow_ even more brutal, hearing more loose mutterings of praise _for him_.

If he could, he would’ve came a second time, but the force of Evan’s orgasm was _plenty_ enough for the two of them, the nervous man feeling the ejaculate from the other fill him up in almost two spurts, and quickly started overflowing and running down his thighs and balls with the third, and the fourth had him _reeling_ with how full he felt, eyes fluttering into the back of his head at the sensations of being _so full_. Evan was a big behemoth, and had a lot in him; he wasn’t going anywhere for _awhile._

And true to his thinking, it took more than a handful of more pumps of cum into him for it to finally cease, and by that point it had formed a quite sizeable puddle inbetween Dwight’s legs and still continually dripping out of the office worker and onto the floor. And unsurprisingly, even when he was done emptying himself into Dwight, he didn’t let the man go, still holding his hips in his _iron grasp_. 

Dwight squirmed with purpose. “I need to get going.” _To wash away my sins… and my ass, God help me if the others get wind of this._

“Not yet.” _What? The bastard…_ “Wanted to make sure you were filled with something a little more _filling_ than hope. And it’s my break.” 

It looked like somebody had unleashed a whole bottle of ketchup on Dwight’s face. But at least Evan wasn’t keeping him down by his shoulders anymore, and he was free to raise up and get a good look at the mess around them. And to reach over and to push his glasses back on his face again. Killer cum was a bit different than survivor cum. It burned a bit like Legacy, but to Dwight? It just started making his neglected cock hard again.

 _Ah well_. He thought, as he let one of his hands reach down and touch himself again, wincing from the sensitivity still lingering. _I’m going to be here awhile, might as well enjoy myself._


End file.
